


Time Not Ours to Spend

by watsonholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blindfolds, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsonholmes/pseuds/watsonholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the best man to John's wedding, he had his obligations. Plans were to be put into action and hearts would be broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Not Ours to Spend

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first ever fic I made. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> from the one-word prompt "Strippers" by twilightshyfluttersparkle on tumblr

“Sit.” John did as Sherlock instructed. He has ordered John around ever since he knew him, but this request seemed a bit odd.

“Wha—why? Fine.” He sat timidly on the chair placed in the middle of the sitting room. Sherlock, for his part, just looked as John sat. The two men stared at each other. _Something was definitely up._ Before John could speak, Sherlock hurriedly walked off to his bedroom mumbling something incoherent. John just sat there even more confused. He didn’t move a muscle, fearing that…well, he doesn’t really know. Before John could call Sherlock back, the man appeared holding a black piece of cloth. John raised his eyebrow in the very John-Watson-is-confused fashion.

“It is customary for the best man to arrange some form of entertainment before the groom’s wedding.” At this, he quirked an infinitesimally small smile, almost devilish, at John. “You know how much I utterly hate other people in our home, John.” Every word seemed to be punctuated with… there’s no other word for it, lust. John just stared at Sherlock incredulously. “Tedious, John. So, I have prepared…entertainment for the both of us. So you ju—“

“You hired st—strippers?” Now, John was extremely confused. Strippers hired by Sherlock?John could feel his palms sweat; his forehead more so. _This can only turn out badly…_

“No, John. I did not hire strippers. Just one.” Sherlock smiled his mischievous smile, stood behind John and placed the blindfold on. “You can touch, John. You may taste. You may kiss. But you may not remove the blindfold. Understood?” John felt his mouth dry. Now that his sense of sight was gone, he can appreciate Sherlock’s velvety voice even more. He heard music playing, but he cannot identify what song it was nor what genre if his life depended on it. John felt aroused already and there was no one other than Sherlock there. This anticipation was too much already. Pathetic. Wait. _Wait. Who’s the stripper? He never heard the door downstairs open. No one seemed to be moving around except for one person in the room—Sherlock._

He heard rustling of clothing and it was near. Right in front of him. Behind the blindfold his eyes were open wide. Is Sherlock the stripper? “Sherlock…” He began, his voice small and broken. Everything that’s happening cannot possibly be real. He remembered he can touch so he slowly out his hands in front of him, reaching out, only to be blocked by… Sherlock’s belt.

“Shhh… John. I’m doing this as your best man. You will wed Mary tomorrow. You are allowed to have a bit of fun right before.” He uttered the words Mary and fun with such disdain it was palpable. John’s sweating profusely now. Sherlock hands went over John’s and started undoing his belt with John’s hand. Still shocked by this all, John did not know that he’d had undone Sherlock’s belt and the man’s trousers were on the floor by John’s feet.

“John…” Sherlock uttered, his voice caressing John. Before John knew it, he was exploring Sherlock’s body. He felt like reading Braille. He ran his hands over the man’s abdomen, hard but warm. He heard Sherlock’s breath hitch as his fingers lightly touched Sherlock’s nipples. _So sensitive._

John was now on the edge of his seat. His hands roaming Sherlock’s back. He imagined it looking like white marble, so beautiful and perfect. His face was just a few inches from the waistband of Sherlock’s pants and he could feel heat there. John’s face was probably a deep red now, as he moved back and lightly touched the edge of Sherlock’s pants. Both of them were breathing heavily. He was feeling his way through when he felt Sherlock’s erection and decided to cup it. Sherlock whimpered, but he would never admit he did even if held at gunpoint.

“Sh’rlock…” John uttered in between heavy breaths. He could feel Sherlock gasping for air from arousal and anticipation, but something was not quite right. His breathing was all too wrong. That was when he felt something drop on his right forearm. With his left hand he touched the spot. Thinking it was saliva, but it was watery, extremely so. That was when it clicked in John’s head. The weird breathing was not from arousal, well, not all of it. _Was Sherlock crying?_

He took a peek from his blindfold and saw Sherlock’s eyes screw shut, a trickle of tears running down his eyes. He took his blindfolds completely off, stood up and touched Sherlock’s tear-streaked face.

Sherlock, for his part, had no idea what had happened except when he felt John cupping his left cheek. He quickly opened his eyes and saw only concern in those expressive eyes. Sherlock blanched. Any sign of arousal taken away and he could see John deducing what was happening.

John could feel accusation in Sherlock’s eyes. He does not understand it, yet he felt truly sorry for whatever it is he did.

Taking pity on John, Sherlock began, “You’re getting married tomorrow, John. I don’t have time left to tell you. I thought that when I return I could tell you and we’d be happy. But you had Mary then and became her fiancé and tomorrow, her husband. How could I tell you? This was not supposed to be the life we’d lead when I got back!” Sherlock was seething now, he did not force his cool mask on after that outburst. He had nothing to hide with John there, the man who knew Sherlock, and now knew of his secret.

John was dumbfounded. Sherlock continued but this time, his voice was soft and pleading, “Don’t marry her, John. Please. You love me, don’t you? I know you do. And I love you, John. I always have.” His voice was so broken.

John loved Sherlock. He loved the man. But Mary. “Yes, Sherlock. I do love you. But I love Mary too. And she loves me and we’re getting married tomorrow.” John wanted to say more; wanted to pour his heart out to this man. Sherlock told him he loved him. He should revel in that fact, but there was guilt because of Mary.

“Alright,” was all Sherlock said before turning his back and shutting his bedroom door softly behind him. John was left there, in the middle of the room with Sherlock’s discarded clothes, utterly lost and feeling completely alone, just like he did a few days after Sherlock’s fall.

He slowly picked up the clothes, folded them, and left them on the coffee table. He slowly went up to his room and tried to sleep in 221B for the last time. He didn’t, he couldn’t.

He only saw Sherlock the next day. The man appeared out of thin air next to John’s side as Mary walked down the aisle. John feared for what he might see when he looked at Sherlock. _Later,_ he thought.

After the ceremony, he looked for Sherlock but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Mycroft approached him and said, “Congratulations, John. A splendid wedding.”They just stood there when Mycroft continued, “My brother wishes you a happy life, John.”

That moment, John knew nothing would be the same ever again.


End file.
